In it was James Everett.
My high school sweetheart.
Jesus, he was still in town?
His arm dangled out his open window, and he tapped the side of his truck in time to the music he was playing.
I sank down in my seat as he passed, and saw he was also singing. He looked happy.
And handsome.
Talk about burning bridges. Just after high school graduation, I’d broken things off with him and left town without looking back. My mother had hounded me for ages to pick up the phone and call him, but I didn’t see the point. I was going places. And he’d made it clear that he didn’t want to go with me.
I doubted he had much in the way of warm feelings for me, so with a pounding heart, I ducked down even further as he drove past. I supposed I’d eventually run into him if I stuck around town, but I didn’t want to be trying to explain myself to him before I got my shit together.
I was glad to see he looked happy. He probably had a wife and a kid or two, a good job judging by the nice truck he was driving, and a cute little home on the outskirts of town. He deserved to be happy.
I continued my drive around town, passing my old school and the 4-H Center, finding myself back at what was left of the Flood Creek Hotel. And of course, the saloon just next door.
Oh, what the hell.
I parked at a metered spot, which I didn’t bother putting any change in, because no one wrote parking tickets in Flood Creek.
Pulling open the heavy saloon door, I had to wait a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim interior light.
And when they did, I realized nothing had changed. Not. A. Thing.
I grabbed a seat and rested my elbows on the scarred, wooden bar that ran the length of the room.
“Look who it is,” the bartender exclaimed.
I knew him. I was sure of it.
But what was his name?
“Hey, good to see you,” I lied.
He put a paper coaster in front of me. “Long time no see. Word has it your parents sold everything and left town.”
Was I the last person to get this news?
“Yup. They’re gone.”
“So are you back for a visit? Say, why’re you here if your parents aren’t?”
To think I’d come in for just a quiet drink.
I’d forgotten how nosy people were in small towns. “Hey, can I see your list of wines?”
He tilted his head like I’d asked him something in a foreign language. “’Scuse me?”
“Do you have any… oh never mind, I’ll have a beer. Whatever you have on tap.”
Jesus. Had I really just asked for a wine list?
He smiled. “You sure you don’t want something stronger? In case you forgot, we’ve got more types of whiskey than any other bar in the county.”
I’d forgotten that was the saloon’s claim to fame.
“I’ll start with a beer. Thank you.”
He waved over some of the people playing darts. “Guys, guess who’s back. Ruby Lee Whitaker. In the flesh.”
I was suddenly surrounded by five or six people looking at me like I was some kind of celebrity.
If they only knew.
“Hi, guys. Good to see everyone,” I said.
“Hey, weren’t you living in the Big Apple?” one of them asked.
I nodded. Here come the lies.
“Yeah. I left because… I wanted to do something different.”
That sounded so much better than I ran away when things got too tough or my psycho boss canned me.
“You look real different, Ruby Lee.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or insult, so I just raised my glass. “Cheers.”
The bartender chimed in. “I was trying to find out why she came back when her parents aren’t here, but she ain’t saying much.”
I scowled at the bartender, who was slowly ruining his chances at any sort of tip.
Oh fuck it. “You know what? I will take some whiskey. On the rocks.”
One drink later, I was regaling people with stories of New York fabulousness, and had even challenged a couple guys to a game of darts.
I stumbled back to the bar for another drink.
“Ruby Lee, you are drinking on the house tonight, that’s how happy we all are to have you back.”
Now that would never happen in New York.
“Thank you. That is very kind…”
Shit. I still didn’t know his name.
But I kept babbling, anyway. “You know, I couldn’t wait to get out of this shit town back in the day. And now here I am, right where I started.”
Oops. Did I really just say that?
Everyone stopped talking and turned to look at me.
A hand gripped my elbow. “I think you’ve had enough. I’ll take you home.”
“What? Who do you think you are—”
Oh. Shit.
“James,” I said.
The bartender leaned over. “He goes by Jameson now, darlin’.”
“Jameson?” I repeated.
My high school sweetheart. In the flesh.
“I’ll take you home, Ruby Lee.”
I yanked my arm out of his grip, my gaze glued to his. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. Sure, I’d seen him earlier today when he rolled by in his truck, all happy and jamming out to country music, but now that I was seeing him close up—well, that was a different story. He’d been handsome by any measure when we were teenagers, but a few years’ worth of maturing had made him positively beautiful. A thinner face defined his masculine jawline, and the new crinkles around his eyes made him seem like he’d seen a thing or two in his life.
Yeah, that teenaged James was gone.
Enter, grown up Jameson.
He even smelled good, like regular soap and a slight bit of manly perspiration.
Down girl.
I’d never understood why he’d wanted to go out with me in high school. He was so good looking and I was borderline dumpy, even though my mother had always assured me I was beautiful on the inside.
But I wasn’t ready to go home yet. I pointed a finger at him. “First of all, I go by Ruby now. Dropped the Lee. And second, I don’t have a home. My parents sold it. I’m homeless.”
He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I know all that. Roman told me you’re staying at the ranch. I’ll take you there.”
Roman? He talked to Roman?
I hustled out the door behind him, trying to catch up. “How do you know Roman? And what about my car?”
He turned toward me. “You’ll come back and get it tomorrow.”
We were silent all the way to the ranch. I was too terrified to ask him anything about himself, and I was sure he hated me too much to do the same.
When we pulled up in front of the house, he watched me fish through my purse. “What are you looking for, Ruby?”
I sighed and glanced at the heavy wooden front door I’d passed through so many times. The one that wasn’t mine anymore. “I don’t have a key.”
I’d not gotten one from Roman.
Actually, he hadn’t offered.
Jameson shook his head with a laugh. “Ruby Lee, I doubt that door has been locked in twenty years. C’mon. I’ll walk you up.”
Right. Another New York-ism I needed to abandon. Locking doors. Security. Looking over my shoulder while I walked at night. Those were not going to go easily.